Bedroom Bore
by his-little-troll
Summary: Molly didn't want to be bored right now, she really didn't.
1. Chapter 1

**Bedroom Bore**

Molly didn't really want to be bored right now, she really didn't.

But Tom moved so slow, and his touch was so soft, and his voice so quiet as he whispered his "I love you's" that she found herself ignoring he was there at all. He'd woke her this morning with wondering hands and chaste kisses on her neck, mumbling about 'before work.' If she waited long enough he'd be done and she could get in at least another two hours of sleep before she had to be at Bart's.

With a few more light touches and some rather gross morning-breath kisses, he finished up and she was just about to slip back into the dream about kittens when she heard his high pitch squeal in the kitchen. Grumpier than she'd like after fifteen minutes of hip bumping, she dragged on a robe and her pyjama bottoms. She didn't bother with her hair. It was probably just Sherlock.

Sure enough, the consulting detective sat at her couch sipping his coffee and looking immeasurably pleased with himself. She wasn't sure why he looked so happy and probably didn't want to, but the issue at hand had more to do with Tom. The poor man was a horrible mixture of freight and indignation as he glared at the languid man stretched out sinfully across her cushions. She held in a giggle, rubbed her hands through her hair, and waved on her indignant fiancé.

"Get on to work, Tom. It's not like he's going to bite." She blushes. That's not exactly what she'd meant to say. Both men look at her with entirely opposite expressions. She didn't know if she should be more concerned with Tom's anger or Sherlock's smugness. "You're going to be late. Get on."

Tom didn't look away from Sherlock his entire walk to the door. After an embarrassing stumble with the lock, he was gone. Molly's shoulders slumped a little as she relaxed. At least now she only had one man to deal with.

"What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd stop by, pester you before work, ask for some body parts. My usual." She noted his shoes propped against her decorative pillows. He was going to leave smudges.

"You mean you're avoiding Janine."

"Yes, that too. Really, she's very talkative." He took another long sip of his coffee before staring back at Molly. "And grabby."

"She likes you. Can't blame her for that. After all, you did make sure of it."

"Yes, well… I didn't realize she'd like all of me quite so much. It's not really my area." He glanced over her. She felt naked despite the robe on her shoulders and the baggy t shirt. "I guess it's not Tom's either."

Her cheeks flushed red. She refused to look away as he appraised her again, taking in her disheveled, hastily thrown on clothes and uncombed, rat's nest hair.

"What do you mean? You weren't watching me, were you?" The thought was horrifying and more than a little creepy.

"No. No. I didn't see you." He grinned. It was one of his sly, bemused grins that he only ever got when he felt cocky. "I didn't hear you either."

He took a long sip from his coffee, finished the cup, and set it on the coffee table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bedroom Bore**

"So Molly. Engagements over."

"Yes, thank you. You were quite keen to point that out before." She tried to be irritated with him, she really did.

Almost losing him—twice—and then not hearing from him for months, had been enough to dampen her aggravation.

"Was he boring all the way up until the end?"

"Sherlock."

"Well, really. I didn't even hear a moan. Surely he made you whimper at least once."

She turned to him, finally embarrassed and annoyed enough to confront him directly. "It's not really any of your business."

"No, of course not. Of course, it wasn't my business when you assured me you were having a lot of sex either. Quantity over quality? I didn't think that was your way."

"Shut up. It's not like you have any room to talk. Janine said you were too shy to even touch her."

"I wasn't shy. Just not interested." He looked her over. She looked nice today. Hair pulled back as always, brightly colored blouse, skirt today. God awful shoes.

"Like you've ever been interested." He noticed the tinge of pink in her cheeks, the nervous pull of her lips back into one of her signature smiles.

"You assume because I was uninterested in one woman, I'm altogether uninterested in sex at all?"

"No, I assume that because you've been uninterested in any woman or man that you are uninterested in sex. That and any time anyone's ever questioned you all you've said is 'not my area."  
"You would expect me to speak openly about my sexual practices to strangers?" He grinned as the pink deepened to red.

"Well, no, but you've never shown any interest."

"Do you want to know about my sexual preference, Molly?" Her back stiffened, but she didn't turn to face him.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Ok."

"I prefer hair pulling." He moved behind her, leaning forward to speak in her ear. "And biting in a few choice places."

He framed her with his arms, watched her head tilt to the side. She hadn't even realized she did it, but it exposed the smooth curve of her neck. "And nails digging into my back."

She smelled like vanilla. He leaned in, spoke against her skin. He pressed his body against hers, the curves and angles of her body like hot caresses. "I like to hear my name ground out from their throats as they desperately cling to the sensation of me."

He noted the quick rise and fall of her breath. He smoothed his hands over hers, both of them warm against the desktop. "I prefer writhing and pacing and teasing." She finally turned to glare at him, obviously flustered.

"You're mocking me."

"No, Molly. I'm offering."


	3. Chapter 3

**Bedroom Bore**

She entered in the cab, still shaking from her almost experience.

She'd told him no. Of course she had. He couldn't just waltz into her work place and expect to offer her sex and her just accept it. Of course, he hadn't meant at Bart's. Of course not.

And of course she had to say no.

She had to.

So why did she tell the cabby to go to Baker's Street? And why was her phone perched in her trembling hand? The send button glowed green as she reread the message she'd considered deleting a hundred times.

He was going to think she was smitten already. She'd come running as soon as he'd asked.

Of course, he had asked. It's not like she can be at fault here for answering that offer. Especially not after… How long had she been mad for the man? Too long.  
Certainly now she deserved some satisfying sex. Certainly.

With that determined, she pressed the send button and leaned back in her seat. The cab ride was over in minutes. Sherlock had answered her immediately with a simple "Okay." So now, it was just getting over her nerves to knock on the door.

She knew he knew she had arrived. She had noticed the curtains wave as he'd stepped away, could practically feel his presence on the other side of the door. His knocker was crooked. John was here. Awkward.

He was giving her the chance to leave. She should. He probably wasn't looking for any kind of relationship. Would she be ok with that? She wasn't sure. Probably not. But she really did deserve some good sex. Or at least an orgasm that she didn't cause. It'd be nice.

So she lifted her hand to the knocker. To her surprise, the door opened and John stumbled out. He glanced at her with high eyebrows and a huff of irritation before he ambled down the street. When she faced the now open door, Sherlock stood with a grin pointed at her.

"So, you came then."

"I sent a message."

"I know. I replied." She blushed. For an awkward moment she hovered in the doorway, the two of them staring at each other.

"Come in then." He didn't move out of her way, forcing her to brush against him on entering. She pretended not to notice the pull of him, or the way his hands slid against her as she walked into the flat.

A box sat on his table. The usual bowls and beakers and Bunsen burners were put away, leaving the mysterious package as the center of attention. Green paper shined at her, a black bow sitting on the corner of the box.

"That is for you to open." He leaned against his couch, stretched out as he had been the day he'd deduced Tom's inadequacy. Maybe it was the change in circumstance, but he looked comfortable as opposed to smug.

"You bought me a present because we're going to have sex?" She raised an eyebrow as he laughed.

"No. That is a present I bought for selfishness. You'll understand when you open it." He gestured toward the table, still grinning.

The paper came away easily, the slick surface slipping smoothly away from the tape. A shoebox?

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but bottle green heels had not been it. Did he have a shoe fetish? That would be odd. Of course, it could be stranger. He did like to hang around corpses after all.

"No, it's not a fetish. I just think you'd be impressive in the color. And your shoes were less than complimentary."

She blushed some more, looking down to her well-worn flats. A few tears and permanent creases marred her otherwise very comfortable work shoes. She was still covered in blood and bone bits from work. At the moment, she didn't feel sexy. In her rush to beat her nerves here, she'd forgotten that she probably smelled like a morgue.

"Hm. Well, the night won't last forever." His legs swung over the cushion and landed with a hard thunk on the floor. In three quick strides he crossed the room and stepped into the bubble of space of too close. "Best get started."

He meant it. Before she'd processed his intentions, he captured her lips with his. He was certainly not inexperienced. He didn't touch her, didn't move closer or further from her as her eyes slid shut, the feel of his mouth against hers simultaneously soft and desperate. By the time he pulled away, neither of them entirely unaffected, she'd forgotten about the flecks of blood on her jumper.  
"No more second thoughts then? Good. I can only be patient so long." He was as breathless as she felt.

"I thought you had infinite patience in this regard. It's been ten years, Sherlock, and I don't think I've ever seen you with a woman."

"Hm. No such patience with you it seems." He lifted the heels from the table and pressed them into her hands. "Put on these."

She leaned over to remove her shoes, sliding off the fluffy wool socks she'd worn this morning. She was just thinking that the green wouldn't match anything she was wearing when he cleared his throat.

"Just the shoes, Molly." She blushed brighter.

He tracked every drag of cloth across her skin, his gaze like a heavy caress against the curve of her hip and the arch of her back. She'd never considered undressing herself to be a sensual experience. It had always been a necessary obstacle in the ultimate goal. But the way his eyes darkened at the peek of her breasts from under her bra and the slide of her undies to the floor was enough to make her breath hitch. She caught herself drawing it out when he licked his lips, a slow smile creeping along her own mouth.

"You are a tease Molly. I'd have never guessed."

She gave him a sideways glance before she slipped the shoes on. She no doubt would have felt ridiculous if not for the obvious appreciation as Sherlock appraised her once more. He swept her up, setting her on the table before she'd had a chance to recover her surprise.

He was less controlled now, one hand buried in her hair. Kisses down her neck, an arm pressing her against him. The angles of his shirt creased against her skin as he traced the line of her back with thin nails. Just enough pressure for pain, just enough pain for sensation. Her body was alive with touch.

She wrapped her foot behind his knee, felt him groan into her neck at the heel cutting into his calf. He reciprocated touch for touch, teeth biting into her space shoulder. The hot shot of pleasure down her body curled her toes. She curved towards him. Warmth curled around her breast, a rough thumb rubbing against sensitive skin.

The buttons of his shirt came undone easily under quick fingers. Friction, power, heat sizzled between them. No doubt her long nails digging into his back was more than he'd expected immediately, but he hardly seemed to mind. His lips met hers again, a battle fought with gasps and moans and hums of pleasure.

She wasn't sure how or when she'd undone his trousers, but his hiss against her mouth was not lost. Forehead resting against hers, he stared at her with liquid fire, muscles tense under the hand on his chest. His breath hitched, his eyes slid closed… and then he stopped her.

"Not that easy. I have something to prove after all." His voice was not its usual honey smooth. He lifted her to set her on her feet, supporting her wobbly legs.

"Now, turn around. Lean over."


	4. Chapter 4

**Bedroom Bore**

She didn't know what to expect when he leaned over her, hands holding hers, body hot against her skin. His shirt draped over them in mock privacy.

She felt his lips against her back, a line of kisses. It felt intimate, it felt cherished. She was surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke and sandalwood. His hand dragged down her body, fingers slipping between her thighs and finding the small bundle of nerves that made her breath quicken. He moved lazily, slowly, pressing kisses as her grip tightened around the fingers clutched in hers. He perched over her, entirely still, until her knees were weak. When he stepped away, she held in a whimper of protest, waiting. She propped herself up on her elbows, about to turn to look at him when he hmmed, breaking his silence.

"Don't move. Stay exactly like that."

He did not waste any more time. He entered her slowly, his nails digging into her hip. His first few strokes were short and tantalizing, a tease of something greater. He'd just slanted back over her, pace quickening, breath hot against her ear, when she heard the most dreadful noise.

His phone buzzed on the floor beside their feet. He ignored it for a moment, persisting until the third round of vibrations on his floorboards. The answering groan was entirely of irritation when he pulled away from her.

"This had better be a bloody ten, Lestrade."

She wondered briefly if the detective would question Sherlock's tone, but knowing Sherlock, he'd have been more suspicious if he'd been polite. Maybe it was a three, or a four. Maybe Sherlock would ignore the case.

She knew that wasn't likely the moment Sherlock's eyebrow quirked upward, an impressed ticking of his lips into a smile. He turned his head towards her, eyes lingering over all of the places he'd left a mark. She wondered how many were stained on her skin.

The conversation ended, Sherlock clearly excited about whatever case Lestrade had found for him. She refused to sigh or huff about it as she walked over to her shirt and pants. Luckily, she hadn't wobbled in her new heels, able to keep her dignity intact.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" As incredulous as he sounded, she could swear there was a laugh in that sentence.

"Um… getting dressed? You have a case." She turned red, clutching the awkward jumper over her breasts.

"The man is dead, I'm sure he can wait until we're finished."

"Aren't you… excited?"

"Yes, well, a man can be excited for more than one thing, can't he?" He grinned at her, curled head tilting to the side. For the first time that she was properly paying attention, she was able to see him entirely nude. Lovely. "Well, I do think the mood was ruined a bit, of course. That's the risk of being on call."

"A bit."

She didn't move when he walked up to her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, another around her knees, and before she realized it she was swept up and on her way to his room. He paused at the door, facing her with a serious expression.

"Not bored yet? You can go if you'd like."

It was a bit ridiculous to hear the offer as he held her, covered only in her new heels and the jumper she'd not dropped. With one look she could tell he was serious. He was offering her an out, if she wanted it.

"No. Not bored. Never bored of you Sherlock."

When he left, over an hour later, she was wrapped in his coat on his bed. She slept soundly, that night and many more.

Maybe he was just her type.


End file.
